


losing count

by Vault_of_Glass



Series: Kinktober 2018 [13]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Oral Sex, Scars, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 13:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16409078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vault_of_Glass/pseuds/Vault_of_Glass
Summary: Day 23: Scars, Size differenceSeb belongs todelina<3





	losing count

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delina/gifts).



Seb has more scars than she could ever dream to count.

Not for lack of trying - quiet nights when sleep won’t come, curled against his side to trace the remnants of old wounds and pains long past, faint contours of scar tissue that crisscross his skin in faded constellations. Minutes, hours, days of dedicated study, mapping the shape of every mark to memory. Hundreds, maybe more - the wastes have made a brutal etching of his body - but after all their quiet nights together, the precise amount continues to elude her.

It’s never really been about the counting. There are sweeter incentives still than symmetry and sums, a wonder in not knowing, in the constant rediscovery, in his hitching breath when she learns and relearns him by touch.

Even now, as River settles in his lap, against his chest and the steady comfort of his heartbeat, her fingers graze another scar that stretches blade-thin down his side - pale pink, freshly healed and just starting to fade. Her thumb follows the foreign span of it, end to end. “This is new.”

“Won’t be the last.” Seb slants his teeth at her in a smile, dark and tempting, just as wild and chaotic as the marks that scatter his body, and she can still recall - will never forget - just how good that smile and that body feel against her. His hand palms the slope of her waist, warm and rough with latent strength and hatchmark scars across the knuckles that she’s worshipped and adored; when she closes her eyes, she can almost see the spread of them behind her eyelids.

River drops her mouth to a hollow that dimples his shoulder, the imprint of hair-trigger impact and punctured muscle long since faded into memory. Her lips trail soft over the shallow indentation, and when she follows with the fleeting sweep of her tongue, he hums a rumbling thunder sound and grips his fingers tighter against her skin.

She plants a kiss to the end of his smirk; there’s a split there, too, the one that rises when he smiles, when he grins at her through gunfire and smoke and makes her heart beat double-time behind her ribs. His hand drifts up to the nape of her neck, curling broad fingers through the roots of her hair to draw her closer. Locked together like this, she can feel the muscles shift beneath his skin, radiating body heat that leaves her rosy-cheeked with longing.

“How many are we at?” he asks just left of her mouth, their lips almost brushing. She wants to kiss him properly so very much, and he must know it.

River barely represses a pout. “I’ve lost count, thanks to you. I’ll have to start all over.”

“That’s a shame.” He drapes a hand around her neck, tilting his mouth down the line of her jaw, his voice hushed and smug and decidedly unrepentant. His thumb coasts lazy shapes at the pulse in her throat. “Might take all night.”

“Promises, promises.”

With a gravel laugh, Seb palms her thighs and hefts her up into the firm hold of his grip. A gasp drags the breath from her lungs, heat blushing pink along her cheekbones at the ease with which he handles her. He nudges his mouth at her cheeks and the bow of her lips before finally claiming her mouth in earnest, and the utter warmth of him shivers through her, slow as a sunburn.  

It always feels a bit like chance, kissing Seb - stars aligning, serendipity, a hidden-secret kind of pleasure when his lips find hers. She grasps the dark hair gathered at the back of his neck, tugging softly as he parts her lips and rolls his tongue at the blunt of her teeth. He smells like smoke and liquor, and the rasp of beard and stubble scrapes her throat when he drags his mouth down the sensitive skin there. She draws another stuttered breath that leaves her in a rush of gentle pleading, her nails biting lines down the back of his shoulder.

Cradled between broad hands, River thinks abruptly it’s the smallest that she’s ever felt, soft where Seb is rough and wickedly responsive to his touch, and though he always holds that distant threat of danger, she feels -  _safe_. The world tips dizzyingly around her when he lifts her higher, attending to her skin with teeth and tongue, leaving the throb of budding bruises down her neck and the swell of her breasts and the tender flesh above her hipbones. He guides her knees over his shoulders, where they sink into the tattered back of the couch and her thighs fall open to his mouth and that devilish smirk, her fingers clutching weakly into his hair.

A thrill of fear sprints down through her at the sudden feeling of suspension, but it dissolves with every avid kiss against her skin, and the wordless promise that his fingers press into her hips:  _I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall._

When he feels her ease into his hands, trusting her weight to his hold, he tugs her down against his mouth, and the first rough curl of his tongue lashes wet heat up the length of her spine. She gasps and squirms in his grip, chasing and evading, too much and far too little all at once. His iron grasp keeps her locked firmly in place against him, exposed and open to his lips and searching tongue, and she shivers with each pass that rips such vivid warmth across her nerves.

Her breath falls short and swift and shapes his name in broken whimpers. As well as she knows all the scars that mark his skin, Seb knows her better - knows her needs, knows her body, knows how  _fast_ she falls apart once he gets his mouth on her. Her nails tremble down the back of his neck, hips tensing into his hands as the flat of his tongue slides in against her clit. His mouth pulls raw and taut and sharp, parting her folds with a lazy sort of deftness that has her lashes fluttering low over her eyes.

River bites her lip, glancing down to see his mouth working between her legs - an obscenely pleasing view, his calloused fingers wrapped around her thighs, pinning her knees apart with the broad of his shoulders even as she starts to rock against him. With shaking fingertips, she smooths the hair back from his face, the tresses dark and thick between her knuckles, and he groans when she tightens her fist around them. His eyes lift to meet hers, black with pupil, holding her gaze until the scrape and swell of pleasure build into a riptide far too violent to resist, her eyelids screwing shut against whitewater currents that break free and pull her under. Bliss burns a vibrant path across her nerves, tearing a cry from the bottom of her lungs. Spots of light form rorschach flashes in the dark behind her eyelids, fluid, senseless, pulsing with each frenzied beat of her heart, and for a floating, breathless moment, there is only relief.

The pleasure gradually recedes and leaves her shuddering, unable to recover, bliss-dazed and limp in the bend of his arms. She tries to tame her breathing as he guides her thighs around his waist once more. While her heartbeat winds back down, she sets her lips against the jagged ridges of another scar, her kisses gentle in the wake of coming down, tender, as if she might salve the old wound back into smooth, unbroken skin.

Seb catches her chin in his hand, tilting her head up to read the lines of her face, her features lax and languid after climax. His mouth fits comfortably against hers, prodding her lips apart for the flick of his tongue. She can feel the heat and length of him between her thighs, and his body jolts beneath her when she hugs her fingers in around him, a stutter catching in his breath. He rakes his teeth across his lip and smiles at her. "Lose count again?"

She huffs a shaken laugh. "Forgot to start."

"Mmn. My fault, probably."

“Always." River adores him for it. She rests another kiss against that wicked smirk. "Please,” she sighs, and strain has frayed the soft threads of her voice. She’s never been too proud to beg, not when she  _needs_ like this, her every atom aching, empty, craving. “Seb, love, please -”

He steadies a hand at the back of her neck and kisses the pleas from her lips. He breathes her name, and it sounds like reassurance, like _I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall_. His other hand secures her hip with just the right amount of roughness, firm enough to lead her thighs apart and sink her slowly down around him, and her scattered thoughts all coalesce into a flood of  _yes yes yes_  at the burning, perfect stretch.

River has always been small, and Seb is so very _not small_ , and everything feels tight and full and heavy when they finally fit together. Her vision swims with tears, a moan thick and strangled on her tongue. She watches his throat bob as he sucks in a deep breath and swallows empty air, his muscles stiff with tension.

“Fuck,” he says gruffly, and River’s inclined to agree.

The first few moments are the hardest, when her body is still reeling from the feel of him. Seb works a series of soothing kisses down her throat, his fingers kneading patiently at the curve of each hip. Her breath hooks and shudders when he shifts his weight and the thick rigid length of him nudges within her. A hollow sob rolls through her, squeezing her voice into a desperate whine. “ _God_ , that’s… fuck, that’s a lot.”

His laughter is strained, muffled into the hollow beneath her jaw. The salt sting of sweat trickles down from the crown of her head, flushing her body through with slow molasses heat. She whimpers when Seb starts to move, his hands guiding her hips into a languid rhythm that leads him over every stretch of tender nerves inside of her, and her nails rake hard across his back, her body seizing into a tight line at the sudden throb of pleasure. She babbles nonsense sounds between her teeth, too dazed to form the proper words, but a winded smile tilts his mouth when he parses the affection in her voice.

His breath cuts hard against her jaw, lips parting to tease teeth along her throat. Coarse fingertips travel the climb of her ribs, seeking the stiff peaks of her nipples, and each possessive touch sends another bolt of heat sinking between her thighs. Her hands are shaking when she cradles them against his face and draws him down into a kiss, panting breathy moans on every downstroke.

“Perfect,” she gasps, fucked past the point of rationality; there’s just no room for it when she’s this _full_. “Perfect, you’re so good, so perfect.”

_Nothing’s ever been this perfect._

River grips his hand by the wrist, kissing his calloused fingertips, the scars across his knuckles, the valley of his palm. Somewhere beyond the pleasure, instinct howls, caged and seething like a storm behind her ribs:  _don’t let him go._

His mouth hunts the base of her throat and sucks a bite against her skin. She’ll have bruises in the morning, and her heart sings at the thought of his teeth and his touch leaving marks on her body. When her legs start to tremble, he takes hold of her hips and fucks up into her, drawing her down to meet each slow, deep thrust. It’s still so _much_ , and the sweetest kind of ache throbs back to life within her, intangible, an almost end just out of reach.

“ _Seb_ ,” she whines, and “ _please_.” The only two words she has left when he drives in to the hilt and grinds torturously against her. She sinks her teeth into his shoulder, panting, each breath punctuated by a shuddering moan. His pace quickens, fingers flexing divots into her hips as he guides her down around him again and again, and every time they fit together feels like coming home after a long, cold winter spent away.

Tear-streaked and verging on delirious, River kisses the scar above his mouth and clings white knuckles at his shoulders. His hand spans the soft planes of her stomach, drifting down to where she spreads around him, and his thumb stroking in around her clit wracks a shiver down her spine. She gasps a brittle cry at the shock of that overbright touch, but it kick-starts her fitful climb toward climax, and the end plummets hard into her grasp, where it burns and spreads and overtakes her. Thick, heady pleasure erodes the tension from her body and every last flickering thought until only bliss remains.

Rough hands pin her closer. Seb growls her name through his teeth, the muscles in his neck and shoulders stiff beneath the skin. Aftershocks still shiver through her when she tilts their heads together and begs for him in the shattered remnants of her voice.

“Need you,” she breathes, and feels that gospel truth with every frenzied heartbeat.

Every part of him tenses against her, and his hands grip tighter around her hips when he comes with a shivering groan. His head falls back, eyes twisted shut as he fucks her through it, all the urgency and roughness fading slowly into still, sated calm.

When the tension in her body finally unwinds, River wilts in the warmth of his embrace, lifting her head to pepper tired kisses along his jaw. She feels a rumble of satisfaction deep in his chest, and the slick, tight point where their bodies are still locked together.

Seb presses his palm to her flushed cheek, his thumb gliding the scar that splits her brow. His eyes roam her features and settle at her swollen mouth before he dips her head to kiss her once more, slower now, easy after the fall.

“Got a final count?” he asks, and she can hear amusement even with that fucked-out rasp scraped rough and so damn lovely through his voice.

River barely has the breath to laugh, shivering when his hand sinks down her side to the curve of her hip. “Not even close.”

“Mmn.” His mouth is already busy again, trailing teeth down the column of her throat. “No rush. We’ve got all night.”

As she falls into the familiar shift of his lips against hers, she thinks of all the scars that mark his body and all the quiet nights she’ll need to find every last one. She could spend a lifetime at his side and never reach a final sum, and she doesn’t mind a bit.

It’s never really been about the counting.


End file.
